Unrequited Obsession
by Uta Burke
Summary: Norman as Mort, a 27-year-old, badass fireman with a heart for children and animals. 16-year-old Max develops a crush on him after a small accident at the fire station and becomes obsessed with thinking about Mort making love to him, a desire that never comes true. Crushed that Mort coldly brushes off his infatuation and trying to 'get back at him' ends in tragedy for Max


"Unrequited Obsession" is a short story with Norman Reedus as Mort, a 27-year-old, badass fireman with a heart for children and animals. 16-year-old Max develops a crush on him after a small accident at the fire station and becomes obsessed with thinking about Mort making love to him, a desire that never comes true. Crushed because Mort coldly brushes off his infatuation and trying to 'get back at him' ends in tragedy for Max, and Mort realizes too late that advances from hormone-driven young people need to be taken seriously, not ignored or rudely nipped in the bud in an attempt to dissuade them…

Hanging out with the men at the firehouse and listening to the crazy stories Emergency Personnel naturally had a cache of had become the after-school, after-party, and after-hanging-at-the-park habit for Max and his friends. The fire station was a convenient stop between school and home, and whenever they saw one of the guys outside washing a truck or rolling up hoses, they said hi and stayed for a soda. It helped that Josh's much older brother, Keith (29), was the chief and they therefore had a built-in connection. He and Mort, his second-in-command, 27, muscled as hell and covered in tattoos, were the coolest guys Max had ever met. They didn't mind when the chief's kid brother and his friends stopped by, listening open-mouthed to the close calls the men encountered.

"It sweetens the dedication when the kids look up to us," Mort liked to say.

This generated guffaws and stinky fingers from the "kids", who, at sixteen, felt they had left childhood behind a long time ago.

Mort was the firehouse's dedicated badass, once pressing a burning cigarette on his forearm on a bet without flinching, then pouring whiskey over the wound for disinfection. Max saw it with his own eyes. Mort was so badass he _stopped_ drinking at only time they ever knew him to get tender about anything was with animals which he declared he loved more than people, including his own mother. Keith more than once had to warn him that people came first, not pets, when they entered a burning building. But nothing could stop Mort from going back into a fire for an animal once everyone was safely outside. There was even a picture in the paper one year showing him give mouth-to-mouth to a kitten which was still alive today. But other than that, he seemed to have ice running through his veins.

The "kids" had their own leader, Joe Jack, a dark haired, amber eyed, year-round tanned, six foot tall girl-magnet still too young to fully understand the effect he had on women. When they leered at him, he blushed and didn't know where to look, which only seemed to make him more endearing. Keith, Mort and Joe ran the show; everyone else was pretty much supporting cast. Max had recently begun to hold his own, though. He'd lost his father six months ago in a tragic accident and received more sympathy than he knew what to do with. Just when he was about to ask Nadja out on a date, knowing she was waiting for it, his dad died and everything came to a stop. He withdrew like a snail into his shell and let his hair grow long. The guys at the firehouse treated him like nothing happened and this was what he needed more than pitiful looks, people making him feel that life went on and everything was cool. He could be himself at the station, cracking everyone up with his ability to parrot foreign accents before he went home to his depressed mother. He learned to laugh again and slowly got over his grief.

Josh was a quiet, loyal friend who got along with everyone. He was on the chubby side which gave them plenty of fodder for good-natured jokes, but he did tell Max that it hurt and he was trying his hardest to lose a few pounds. The only thing that stood in his way were the vending machines at the station and one day one of the guys, he thinks it was Culp, put a "Free snacks - except for Josh" sign on the machine. He laughed with them but later hid in the bathroom to shed a few tears. Carl saw it and told Joe who put a stop to making fun of Josh, which Keith emphasized with a threat. Anyone who made fun of anybody in the future would have to report to him.

Blond, blue-eyed Carl was the most unassuming of Max's friends but belonged with the group like warts on a hog.

On Friday after school Max and his friends stopped by as usual, to usher in the weekend. The firemen took a break from chores and sat on cots and chairs, talking about a false alarm that morning. About five trucks, an ambulance and three police cars had lined up in a little cul-de-sac where a concerned owner called in a gas smell. Instead of a gas leak they found a house that hoarded ninety-four cats and dogs. They nearly had to break down the door before being let in. The smell was overwhelming and the house looked like something you would see on "Hoarders". Now the SPCA was clearing out the place, transferring the animals to vets and shelters. The home owner worked at a shelter herself and couldn't bear to watch the animals being marked for death so she brought them home. Mort mumbled that he completely understood why she did what she did, but it wasn't the answer either. It just extended their suffering.

Max popped open a soda can and balanced it on his knee. Of course he knocked the can over in the next second and a half. Cursing, he shot up and hit his head on the metal bar of the top bunk exactly where a screw poked out point first. Max felt it rip into his head and he yelped in pain. He crouched on the floor, wiping his hand over the wound, then looked at it in horror when it was covered in blood. Mort was next to him in a flash. He pulled a handkerchief out of his shirt pocket, mumbling, "Don't worry, it's clean," and pressed it against the gash above Max's hairline. Blood dripped down the side of his face. "Keep holding it," Mort instructed and disappeared in the back. Max's head throbbed and he felt nauseous. He leaned against the wall, holding the rag in place.

Mort returned with a First Aid kit. "This will hurt some," he warned. "Ready?"

Max nodded and closed his eyes. Seconds later he cried out and pulled away from the burning sting caused by a cotton ball soaked in something brown. "Shit, what is that?!"

"Iodine. Hold still." Mort wiped the area with the cotton ball and Max nearly passed out. "Almost done." Mort inspected the gash and determined it didn't need stitches. Then he expertly bandaged the wound as one of the guys mopped up the spilled soda around them.

"How do you feel," Mort asked, concern in his voice and eyes.

"A little dizzy. And it's really throbbing," Max said miserably.

"Okay," Mort gestured to one of the cots, "lay down a while. You're not allergic to ibuprofen, are you?" He picked a bottle of pain relievers from the kit and shook two tablets into his palm, then filled a cup of water from the water dispenser and handed both to Max. "They'll knock you right out." He watched him swallow, then led him to a cot and flung back the blanket, indicating for Max to climb in. He covered the injured boy with unusual care and gentleness, even running a finger along Max's long, dark-blond fringe to brush the hair out of his eyes.

That was the moment when Max, a healthy, red-blooded, drooling-over-boobs male teenager, fell hook, line and sinker in love with Mortimer O'Keefe.

"You up?" Mort asked, hovering over Max's face.

Max opened his eyes and looked around. "Where is everybody?"

"Gone home."

Max sat up slowly. He touched his head and felt the big bandage. "Can I take this off now? I really don't want to go home with a turban."

Mort squatted in front of him. "Let's see what it looks like. Maybe a Band-Aid will do if it's not bleeding anymore."

Max held his breath while Mort's handsome face was only inches away from him. He took great care not to hurt him as he unwrapped Max's head.

"Yeah, seems to have stopped. Hold this," Mort said and guided Max's finger to the wound to keep the new square of gauze in place. He took a Band-Aid out of the kit, peeled it and placed it over the gauze. Mort's soft, pink lips where right in front of Max's eyes and he felt a new surge of attraction zap through his body. What the hell was happening to him?

"I'll take you home then. D'you have your things?"

Max nodded and got to his feet. He tried a few steps and decided that holding on to Mort's proffered arm might be a good idea since he still felt woozy. He swore he'd felt sparks when he touched Mort's steel-hard arm and dared not to lean too heavily on him.

"Don't be shy. I won't fall over," Mort laughed.

But Max felt so overwhelmed with emotion that seemed to have come out of nowhere and which he had absolutely no idea what to do with. He desperately hoped it wasn't obvious.

Mort dropped Max off at the front door of the condominium he lived with his mother and waited until he was safely inside before driving away. Max watched the head lights disappear around the corner before closing the door. His mother was already in bed. He plopped onto the couch in the living room and sat in the dark, trying to come to terms with what happened to him. And by that he didn't exactly mean the head injury. How could he, out of the blue, as if struck by lightning, develop such a man-crush when until now all he drooled over were the girls at school and the beach? One moment, he was his normal horny self, the next he was engulfed, inside and out, with an all-out desire for an older guy whom he knew was straight as an arrow and no two ways about it. The worst part was, he couldn't talk to anybody about his confusion. They would make fun of him for the rest of his life!

Max reclined against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He imagined Mort's long fingers, his intensely blue eyes, the long dark hair hanging over his face which made him look arrogant and cool. But these lips, soft and smooth, how would they feel against his? He relived Mort stroking his fringe out of his eyes, carefully avoiding the throbbing wound. Max got a warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach. Only his mother had ever touched him so gently and it felt good to know someone else cared. He couldn't stop thinking about Mort's fingers. Now, in his mind, they were gliding across his cheeks, stopping at his mouth, tracing his lips. Max stuck out the tip of his tongue, imagining Mort's tongue touching his, then pressing his lips on Max's for a long kiss. Their mouths parted and the tongues touched, teasing and rolling around each other. Max felt his penis react and forced himself to snap out of this insane dream. It would be too awkward to imagine a sex scene with über-cool, tough-assed Mort from the firehouse and would have to be nipped from the get go. It was a one-time attraction due to pain and medication, and would be gone in the morning. Max sighed, relieved to have found an explanation, and went to bed.

The next day, Max argued with his mother whether to see a doctor or let the gash heal on its own. He bopped around the house, not feeling in the mood for anything. All he knew was that he felt an unquenchable desire to go to the fire station. Any other plan he could come up with felt stupid. He tried to keep busy around the house but couldn't stop his mind from wandering, thinking about what Mort might be doing. He kept checking his cell phone, hoping Mort sent him a text asking if he felt better. Nothing. Max composed a text message, "My mother wants a doctor to look at the wound, do you think that's necessary?" but hesitated to send it, afraid Mort might think they didn't have confidence in his abilities. He deleted it, reworded it, and deleted it again. Then he wrote, "Thanks 4 UR help yesterday, it feels tons better," and sent it before he could change his mind.

It took ten minutes for Mort to respond and all he said was, "Glad to help, take it easy a couple days, kid." Max's heart pounded and he broke out in a sweat. His hero had answered and even sounded slightly concerned. He asked, "What's doing today?" This time it took Mort longer to respond and Max regretted sending it. Mort must not have expected another text from him. Then the phone dinged and Max jumped. "Nothing much, going to the Grove later with the guys." Max was disappointed. It didn't sound like an invite to have the cut looked at or to hang out. The "Grove" was a seedy bar where minors were not allowed in. Damn. He wanted to see Mort now.

"I'll be right back," he yelled to his mother and left before she could ask questions. He jumped on his bike and pedaled to the station, preparing a lame excuse about having Mort look at the wound. Max's heart beat in his throat when he saw Mort's black SUV sitting in the parking lot. He was on duty. Leaning his bike against the low wall surrounding the Dumpster he tried to look casual as he walked toward the building. He ran into Keith in the hallway.

"Hey, how's it going? Back for more?"

"What?"

"More head bashing. Never mind. You all right now?"

"Yeah. I think. I want to let Mort look at it. To, you know, see if it's healing okay and shit."

Keith nodded. "He's in the shower. I can check it if you want."

Max hesitated. "Um, that's all right. I can wait. Since he took care of it, I mean."

"No prob." Keith disappeared in the garage, and Max was alone.

The shower…

Max sauntered toward the locker room, pretending to pace the hall while waiting, trying to catch a glimpse of Mort through the open door. He heard water running, but saw no one inside. Mort must be the only one in the stalls. Max rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans as he paced back and forth when he heard the water being turned off. Mort was whistling, a good sign. He could get moody and withdrawn, but when he whistled the outlook was good. Max remembered that they were going out so that must be why he was in a good mood. Suddenly Mort stepped out from behind the curtain. Max's heart beat in his throat. Mort had a towel wrapped around his middle but it sat so low that part of his butt was visible. There was a tiger tattooed on his back which took up half of his upper body. Mort grabbed another towel to dry his hair and turned around, not being able to see Max because the towel hung over his eyes. Max stared as if hypnotized. The dark fuzzy hair growing down the middle of his flat stomach disappeared in Mort's partially visible pubic hair and the chiseled ridges on either side of his loins formed an arrow-like triangle, pointing to his penis which was outlined against the threadbare towel, but not exposed. Max was so entranced by what he saw that his heart thumped like a sledgehammer and his mouth hung open. He retreated from the door before Mort could see him. Max hid behind a vending machine then tip-toed away. He knew if he would glimpse just an inch more of Mort's nakedness he was liable to faint. And he would undoubtedly drop dead if Mort or one of the guys would catch him leering at this tall, muscular, generously tattooed fireman.

He waited in the common room and when he saw Mort walking past, he followed and called out to him. Mort turned around, startled to see him. He was wearing jeans and socks, but his upper body was still naked, glistening with water droplets that he missed when he toweled off.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing much. I thought I'd let you check my head before you go out."

Mort grinned. "You need your head examined? That's a first." He stepped up close to Max, exhaling smoke into his face from the cigarette that dangled from the side of his mouth, squinting at the Band-Aid which he lifted up a little.

Standing that close to Mort caused Max to tremble. He concentrated on the tattoos - names, tribal patterns and animals - spread out all over his biceps and chest, taking it in with the smoke and shower gel fragrance, and a whiff of Mort's general body odor, a light muskiness that almost made him lose his mind.

"Yup, looks good. You'll live." Mort winked at him.

Max stretched out a finger toward one of the tattoos, tracing it lightly. "What's that for?"

Mort stepped back as he looked down. "Edna was my grandmother. Super religious but a mouth on her like a hoor. That's what the Irish field cross is for." The cross had Edna's name on it and the f-word below. It looked awesome, totally unexpected. "She was crazy, man, didn't take crap from anyone, least of all her old man. When he was around she carried a gun for safety." Mort turned to walk away.

"Uh, so, what are you guys doing later?" Max was desperate to keep the conversation going. "Is everyone going out or just you and Keith?"

Mort turned around, looking a bit irritated. "Whoever wants to go can go. How the hell do I know what everybody's up to? You can't, so don't worry about it, kid."

Max was bummed, but he'd be damned if he'd show it. "Why do you keep calling me kid?"

Mort sneered. "'Cause you are one. Enjoy it. You'll be an adult for the rest of your life," he said and disappeared in the kitchen.

Max knew he had reached the end of Mort's patience. Anymore questions and he would get on his nerves. He debated whether to go home or stop by Joe's house. As he pedaled out of the parking lot he knew he would go home, to the privacy of his room. The images of Mort's half-naked body would give him fodder for days.

Max lay on his back across his bed, fully dressed, with his hand down the front of his pants. The blinds were closed so the room was dark and he had a chair propped against the door so his mother couldn't walk in unannounced. He conjured up a picture of Mort in the shower and in his imagination he was in there with him. Mort was in the stall next to him, whistling. Max lathered his body, but dropped the soap which slithered across the floor to Mort's side. Max stood with his back to the curtain, washing out his eyes when he felt the fireman step up behind him, slowly soaping his back and buttocks. Max leaned his head against Mort's chest. The fireman's hand moved down Max's side, around to the front, and reached for his privates while he nuzzled into his ear, warm steam engulfing imagined every detail, Mort treating him as tenderly as when he took care of his wound, and his heart almost burst with gratitude. Mort was a badass with a good side, and this good side was now gently guiding him in moving his hand up and down, pleasuring both so intensly that he had to suppress his moans. He nearly blacked out from the rapid gasps when he felt his relief rushing in, starting in his belly.

On his bed Max arched his hips and let the sensation roll over him, throwing back his head and grunting a long satisfied moan. He let his breath return to normal before getting up and wiping his groin with a tissue. He felt guilty imagining such a scene with the toughest guy in the fire department but knew he would do it again.

Later he felt restless again. He avoided texting Joe to find out if anyone had plans for later because he wanted to drive by the "Grove" and watch Mort through the window which he did around ten. He was only able to see him shoot pool with his buddies for a minute or two without getting caught, but it was better than nothing. He would feel so dirty next time he saw Mort at the firehouse. What had happened to him since Friday?

Max grew edgy to see Mort again, but forced himself to stay away from the firehouse or texting him or have any contact until at least tomorrow after school. He tried to concentrate on homework, lying on the floor in front of the TV, but his thoughts drifted to Mort's half-naked body. When Max heard his mother leave to go to the mall with a friend, he jumped up and sat on the couch. He stuck his hand down his pants and began fantasizing about being with Mort, this time to really make out. He rubbed himself, , pretending Mort sitting next to him, kissing him for like forever. He unbuttoned Max's shirt and pushed it up, out of the way while he unzipped his jeans, working his hand inside. Max arched his hips in anticipation. He pushed his jeans and boxers down himself, since Mort obviously wasn't there to do it for him. He imagined Mort with his pants down too, not wearing any underwear, Max threw back his head and opened his legs. Mort was between his knees now, very slowly and gently pushing inside, little by little and very slowly. He insisted to let him know the second it hurt and he would stop immediately. Max grunted with pleasure and lifted his pelvis to meet paced his hand movements to prolong the sensati on and hold off as his lover took his virginity. Max was overcome with emotion by how gentle he imagined Mort would go about it. The guy who always acted so tough took extreme measure to make the first time a pleasurable experience for the 'kid'. When it was over and Mort faded out of his dream, Max sat exhausted on the couch with his jeans and drawers bunched around his ankles. He bent down and pulled them up, feeling guilty and alone.

Later that night, he received a text message from Josh and what it said shocked him to the core. Mort had a close call that afternoon in a house fire and was injured. He was at the station, refusing to go to the hospital. He, Josh, was there and saw it. Mort bled from head wounds and had burn marks all over his body. Max frantically left the house, grabbed his bike and sped to the station. The place crawled with people. Keith shouted orders, looking upset. Max stayed near Josh so they wouldn't make him leave and Josh told him what he knew. Supposedly a family home burnt to the ground with two kids inside. When the fire department arrived the men did what they could and saved several people, but a puppy was at the door and when Mort tried to grab it, it ran back inside. A woman was yelling, "My babies, my babies," and Mort ran inside, following the dog. He had gone upstairs into the children's room and stayed with them, waiting for help. Before Mort could pull them out to safety, the ceiling collapsed on them, burying the kids and dog. He almost died himself but his comrades got him out in time. He looked badly wounded but was so inconsolable about the kids and dog that he fought off everyone who tried to comfort him.

Max craned his neck trying to get a glimpse of Mort who sat on a cot in the dormitory. Keith was arguing with him about something and Mort kept shaking his head. He looked as if he was crying, his face and chest streaked black from soot and red from blood leaking from cuts, but he was conscious and alive. Max felt so relieved he nearly fell to his knees.

Mort mumbled something and Max heard Keith say, "The dog did what he was supposed to do, and you did what you were supposed to do. Everything else is up to the Maker."

"Hey chief, the medics are here," Culp yelled from the entrance, ushering them inside. They followed him into the dorm and someone closed the door. If Moses wasn't coming to the mountain, the mountain would come to him.

Max and Josh waited around until things settled. Finally Keith emerged, looking exhausted, and when Max saw Mort, he was cleaned up and wrapped in bandages. He disappeared in the bathroom and Max hid next to a cabinet, waiting for him to come out. When the door opened, he stepped into the hallway, right into Mort's path.

"Hey, Mort. I'm so sorry about what happened. Really, really sorry," he sniffed.

Mort looked at him with such sadness in his eyes it nearly broke Max's heart. He was afraid Mort would push him aside, but to Max's immense relief, he gave him a slight hug, probably because everything hurt him. Then he went back to the room. Max felt so charged up from the encounter he left the building and walked his bike home, relishing the hug and look Mort gave him with every fiber of his being. He lay awake at night thinking about this gorgeous, wild rebel with the huge soft spot for kids and animals. He ached to hold Mort in his arms and comfort him, but that was so out of the question he resorted to envisioning it a thousand times a day.

Josh confided to Max that his brother worried Mort would go back to drinking so he gave him a week off, to rest and regroup, but called him twice a day to let him vent. Max wished he could tell Keith to call him to vent, since he lived through hell when he lost his father, but he didn't want to sound weird and nixed the idea. Maybe he could offer it to Mort directly next time he saw him. The newspapers called the guys heroes for saving most of the family and mourned the loss of the children. The dog was mentioned, too. Max bought three copies, since Mort was in one of the color pictures on the front page. There was no point going to the firehouse without Mort there and Max was in agony all week. He drove around town and past Mort's apartment, trying to catch a glimpse of him somewhere, but Mort never came outside.

A week after the fire, Max walked home from school with his friends and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Mort's black SUV parked in the lot again. Max insisted they stop by and say hi. As they entered the building he could hear Mort's voice booming above the others'. He sounded like his former self and Max felt relieved. When he saw him, he still looked beat up but better than expected. His hair was freshly washed and glistened black in the light, hanging over his dark blue eyes. He looked stunning. Mort acknowledged them by shouting, "Hey kids," then came over to give Max a slap on the back and Joe a quick hug. Max was in seventh heaven. From then on they stopped by daily.

One day during class, Josh pulled Max aside and told him that his brother was getting a bit funny about them hanging out at the station so much. It wasn't a playground. He made it clear they had to cut back or it would stop. Max was crestfallen. He already looked forward to going over there this afternoon. Josh suggested they hang out at the park with Nadja and her friends after the kiddies left, like they used to. Max said okay, feeling like shit. It just wasn't the same. Why did everything good have to come to an end?

"We can still go to the station, just not every day," Josh assured him.

There was nothing Max could do but obey or risk losing the privilege altogether. So on days when they did visit the station Max made it count. He followed Mort everywhere, hung onto every word, watched him work out in the small weight room and admired his muscles. When Mort sat on the bench pressing weights wearing only sweat pants and sneakers, his upper body glistening with sweat, Max lost himself watching his tattooed back flex and relax, pull and push, until Keith noticed and snapped his fingers in Max's face. "Back to earth," he ordered. Later he warned Mort to be careful around Max. "He's drooling over you. Make sure you're never alone with him, all right?" Mort laughed it off and flexed his biceps. "Can you blame him, chief? Don't worry, the kid's just impressed. Says he wants to look like me one day."

Max continued showing so much interest in everything Mort did and said that the other firemen joked about it. "Hey Mort, why don't you show him that tattoo on your ass cheek, MoB." Turning to Max, Culp asked, "D'you know what MoB stands for?"

Max blushed and shook his head. "Not really."

"Money over Bitches." The guys busted out laughing. "He and a couple friends from high school got plowed one night and came up with the idea to get butt tattoos. That tells you something about a guy."

Mort flipped them the finger and sucked on his cigarette. "Yours would say 'Fucking Dumbass' then." He high-fived the guy next to him and the two cracked up.

Max laughed so hard at Mort's joke that the others stopped and looked at him. "It's not that funny," one said. "Hey Mort, you've got a fan club. The kid fuckin' adores you." With that he raised Max's arm in the air to point him out.

Mort turned somber and disappeared in the engine room. Max waited several minutes then followed, looking for him. When he found Mort between two trucks he asked, "Can I see it?"

"See what?"

"The – your tattoo."

Norm moved the cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other and gave him a long appraising look. "No, you can't," he said coldly and walked away.

The blunt rejection left Max numb. Mort hated him! Everything had been going so well until he overstepped the line and now blew it forever. His cheeks burned with shame and he staggered outside. It was a full moon and the night was less dark than usual. Max hopped onto the wall by the Dumpster and hoped his friends wouldn't come looking for him, but if they did, he would say he missed his father so they would leave him be. He sat on the wall feeling sick to his stomach and stared at the building knowing his friends had a good time with the guys, but it was over for him. It would feel too weird to ever be around Mort again. He let some tears flow then wiped them away and forced them to stop. That's when he saw the figure coming out of one of the side doors, carrying a garbage bag. It was Mort and of course he headed for the Dumpster. Too late to run and hide, Max sat frozen in place. He wished he could disappear, knowing it would be an awkward conversation, if Mort even still talked to him.

Mort heaved the garbage bag into the mouth of the Dumpster and pulled a cigarette out of his shirt pocket. Turning to Max he lit it and said, "Listen kid. I just want to point out something so we're both clear, okay?"

Max averted his eyes, staring straight ahead, holding his breath. If Mort had a hunch about the sex dreams he had about him, Max would die. The smoke from Mort's cigarette swirled around his head and made him cough, but Mort didn't apologize. When he took another deep draft though, he blew it out the side. Max felt his eyes tearing up again and waved his hand in front of them, pretending it was from the smoke.

The cigarette bobbed up and down as Mort spoke. "You know how much I adore the ladies, right, kid? And the ladies adore me. Matter of fact, they adore me so much they call me 'Tiger Blood.' What I'm saying is, there isn't a cell in my body that is even the slightest bit interested in anything other than a fine lady. D'you understand what I'm getting at?"

Max, tense, still staring past Mort into the distance, grasped full well that his hero just told him there wouldn't be a chance in hell that his feelings would ever be reciprocated. Even a touch, a hug, were now completely out of the question. Mort knew how he felt about him and just blew him off for good. Max fought to hold it together to preserve his last shred of dignity.

"I don't know what you mean, I only wanted to see your tattoo," he croaked, the fringe hanging over his eyes, knowing Mort didn't believe a word. But he kept playing it down. "I only like girls, too."

"Right. Did you ever make love to one?"

Max blushed. "Sure. I mean, we were about to. I forgot the condom and she chickened out." He rubbed a sleeve across his nose, pulling up snot.

Mort shook his head. "You're what, fourteen, fifteen?"

"Sixteen," Max corrected him.

"You're young. Take your time, kid. There's nothing to hurry up for."

"Yeah, I know." Max jumped off the wall and groped for his keys. "I'm gonna go home, okay. Can you let Joe know?"

"Sure you don't wanna come back inside?" Mort said.

"No, I'm really tired. So, see you later?"

"See you later."

Max watched Mort disappear in the building then walked toward the beat-up car he shared with his mother. He drove out of the parking lot toward home, but pulled off to the side halfway through the wooded part of the road and turned off the ignition. He beat his fists on the steering wheel, screaming with the agony of unrequited love, crying, sobbing, pleading, shaking, begging to die, and acting all-out insane. He didn't know how long he carried on but when he finally caught his breath, he felt wiped out and empty. His throat hurt from screaming. He slumped forward and rested his head on the steering wheel trying to go to sleep, but the high beams of oncoming cars disrupted him and every car that swooshed by made him fear it was Joe with the others. Or worse, Mort. How would he explain the state he was in? Max started the car and drove home thoroughly exhausted and dejected. Later, in bed, he vowed to stop eating and wither away so he would become invisible. He also planned on avoiding the station for a very long time, so Mort would miss him and maybe even worry, asking his friends what happened to him.

The day after his meltdown, Max stayed in bed, only getting up to pee and drink. It was easy to starve, since Liebeskummer, the German word for brokenhearted, was stronger than hunger. He kept going to school and only drank water and juice for six weeks, not consuming a bite of food. Max grew pale and skinnier, but not weak. The fast actually refreshed him and sharpened his senses, and in his mind he felt superior to the weaklings like Josh who couldn't control their eating. Nobody knew about his pain. When Joe or Josh asked him to stop by the station with them, he always had an excuse. Whenever he drove past, he checked the parking lot to see if "his" car was there. Most times it was, and a couple times he could see Mort from the distance. Max's heart always gave a jolt when he saw Mort but he kept going and let him wait, making him suffer. At least that's how it played out in his head, Mort wondering why Max hadn't stopped by, and if he was all right.

The week before Memorial Day Joe informed Max that the guys at the station were having a BBQ on Friday night and everyone was invited. "You better show up. They've been asking for you," Joe said.

"Like who?" Max wanted to know, barely able to breathe.

"Everybody."

"Like who everybody?"

"I don't know, like Keith and Culp."

"Mort, too?"

Joe shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. You're going, right? We're not leaving until the next morning anyway."

By that he meant the trip to Ocean City, MD where he and Max and Josh and Carl would be spending two nights. They had booked a room at a beachfront hotel several months ago trying to catch some rays after the dreadful winter they'd had again.

On the night of the BBQ Max took a shower, applied after shave, and combed his hair which had grown long and now hung all the way to his chin. He decided to part it down the middle instead of on the side. He was ready for a change and it worked; he looked radically different. His hair was neither straight nor wavy, just kind of fluffed up like a blond Jesus, and Max let it air dry instead of straightening it, as he sometimes did. His cheeks had sunken in a little and the faded jeans hung off his hips. He put on the cream colored, short-sleeve sweater with the three buttons in the front and when Max looked at himself in the mirror he felt ethereal. Everything looked light, almost translucent. Joe honked outside. When Max got in the car on the passenger side, Joe did a double take but said nothing. Josh and Carl sat in the back, staring. "You look different," Carl finally said. "Yeah, like some angel," Josh added. Max said nothing, just smiled. He was so above it all.

When they pulled into the station's parking lot there were a lot of people gathered already, drinking and eating. Max quickly scanned the crowd. He didn't want Mort to see him until he was ready, but there was no sign of him. Keith waved his brother and his friends over to say hi and to go over some rules. "Absolutely no alcohol. We're cool, not stupid, got it?" They promised and stood around feeling a bit out of place. The guys had their families with them and it was a different atmosphere as when they just hung out with them during the week. They each grabbed a soda and a burger or hot dog and tried to blend in. Max fed his burger to a dog and threw the bun in the garbage. It got dark and the wind picked up. Music blasted through loud speakers. A couple drunks entertained the ladies with stories and jokes, trying to impress them, and a tiny black poodle on a leash struggled against the wind.

"Whoa, hold on to the little guy there," one of the drunks said. "Anything over ten miles an hour and he's a kite." The ladies acted as if that was the funniest thing they ever heard.

Max grinned. He had to use the bathroom and when he came out, turning the corner from the building to the parking lot where the BBQ took place, he saw Mort standing a few yards away, talking to one of the guys. Max stopped short but didn't turn around. He calmly leaned against a lamp post and waited. When Mort finally noticed him, his face lit up and he came over, slapping him on the shoulder, asking where he had been. Max could tell Mort was happy to see him, glad to have him back, and Max felt his heart soar.

"Look at that hair; you trying to be Kurt Cobain?" Mort laughed and pulled on a strand. "How've you been?"

"I've… been," Max said, grinning.

You don't like us anymore?"

Max shrugged shyly. "Of course I do. I just thought it's better if I stay away, you know."

Mort gave him an amused look. "No hard feelings, right?" His eyes were probing.

"No, everything's cool. I kind of have a girlfriend," he lied, just to make it clear that Mort had been mistaken when he thought Max had the hots for him.

Mort high-fived him, obviously glad to hear. "Trish," he yelled over the crowd, waving his hand, "Come here!"

A woman who looked older than Mort, wearing tight jeans, boots, tattoos and black hair down her back, approached. "Trish, this is my buddy, Max. Max, my lady friend, Trish."

Max kept a straight face and shook the woman's hand. "Nice to meet you," he said.

Trish's eyes lit up when she held his hand. "My, aren't you a cute one. Max, so nice to make your acquaintance." Her voice sounded raspy and her eyes devoured him with obvious delight. Mort grinned and pulled her with him. "We'll catch up later, okay?" he yelled over his shoulder and the two walked away, crossing arms behind their backs in an embrace.

Max was glad he lied to Mort about having a girlfriend so he didn't feel like a complete idiot. He shook his head to clear the daze and went back to his friends who were still gathered around Keith. Joe was telling him about the trip they were going on in the morning and Keith pointed out a couple worthwhile places for them to see, since they were too young for Seacrets, the oceanfront resort and bar. Joe took notes on his phone.

The smell of BBQ made Max hungry but he'd lost his appetite after he saw Mort with this woman. Someone handed him a plate with a burger and he refused it vehemently. He grabbed a soda instead and cracked it open. Mort had been watching him from a distance and when he ran into him again, this time without Trish, he wanted to know what was going on. "You look like a corpse. You on a fuckin' hunger strike?"

"No, why?"

Before Mort could ask more questions, fireworks exploded in the sky. Everybody looked up and the topic was forgotten, much to Max's relief. "Gotta go. We're leaving early in the morning. See ya," Max said and turned to leave.

He found Joe in the crowd. "Can we go now? I'm done here."

"I'm not leaving yet."

"Well, I am," Max said and stomped off.

"I'll pick you up at nine AM sharp," Joe yelled after him.

Max didn't acknowledge it. He headed toward the road, tears blurring his eyes. I'll show Mort, he vowed. Treating me like a little kid. Who does he think he is?!

On the way to Maryland the next morning everybody was sleepy but excited to hit the road. "Chicks everywhere, as far as the eyes can see," Carl exclaimed. "OC, we're coming, wooohooo!"

Max chewed on a cereal bar and sipped on the straw stuck in a chocolate milk box. He realized not eating couldn't go on forever. But he would still get back at Mort.

Their suite was amazing. Two rooms with a total of three beds complete with an ocean-view balcony, a pull-out couch, and a bathroom separating the rooms. The sun was coming out as well. They spent most of the day at the pool, watching girls, drinking soda and eating chips, when a goddess walked past. She wore a swim suit with an ankle-length skirt over it but the way the sun slanted made the skirt transparent. The light outlined her shapely legs and crotch area and every male between ten and one hundred stared after her, including Max. Relieved to feel a genuine attraction for her, he gaped unabashedly. Joe slapped him on the back, telling him to close his mouth. They called it an afternoon when a hairy, fake-tanned, old man leered at Max, ignoring the beauty who stretched out two chairs away from him.

"He was undressing you with his eyes, that perv," Joe said in the elevator. "Gross."

Carl and Josh pulled a straw to determine who would sleep on the couch. Josh pulled the shorter end. Max insisted on sleeping in the only bed in the other room. He would keep the door open so he would still be in the room with them. They showered, changed and got ready to go out for dinner, then walk around town. The streets were crowded with college girls in bikinis and tight little shorts, and the guys commented that this must be what paradise looks like.

They had breakfast the next morning at the hotel's buffet which rocked. The weirdo from the pool the day before walked past their table while Joe was in the bathroom and Josh and Carl refilled their plates for the third time. The weirdo dropped a neatly folded piece of paper next to Max's plate. Joe returned just as he exited and they almost bumped into each other. Max stuffed the paper into his jeans pocket without reading it.

"There's that perv again," Joe said, looking after him. "Did you see him? He looks so… so… fake." He shuddered. "Gives me the creeps. Are you eating?"

Max pointed to his almost empty plate. "Just did. I'll get some more." He got up, picked a new plate and piled eggs, a sausage link, and a pancake onto it. While he waited at the waffle-making-thingy for his waffle to bake he secretly looked at the note the old guy had given him. When he read what it said, his heart nearly stopped: "Tonight 11PM, Rm 301." Max couldn't believe it. The perv invited him to his room! Pale with rage and embarrassment he returned to the table where the others were stuffing their faces and talking with their mouths full, spitting food particles everywhere. Disgusting. Max picked on his food, barely joining the conversation about what they wanted to do today, thinking about the guy. The audacity! Did he think he was a male prostitute? They made fun of him at the pool yesterday laying on a deck chair holding a tinfoil-covered cardboard under his face, to intensify the rays and tan faster. What a shmuck. No hair was out of place, he wore socks and sandals, a ton of gold jewelry, and had too much chest hair, but otherwise he was in pretty good shape. They called him "the old weirdo," since he was at least in his thirties or even forties. And now he had given him his room number, inviting him to meet him tonight. Max's stomach turned just thinking about it.

The four friends spent most of the day at the beach. The water was still too cold to go swimming even though a few kids braved the waves. They ate, walked on the boardwalk, commented on girls, played Frisbee, and sunbathed. Max lay on his stomach, half asleep, and thought about things. It would be a chance to get some experience, and most of all, a way to get back at Mort for rejecting him so coldly. He could prove he wasn't a kid, and at the same time, get the "first time" out of the way. He had imagined doing it with Mort so many times that he felt like a pro. He knew what it would be like and what he had to do. The more Max thought about it, the more his resistance waned. He resolved that if there was any chance for him to get away at 11 o'clock, if they were not out at a club or something, he would do it and prove to Mort that he was a man and comfortable in his body. He would become a sexually experienced, mature man overnight and then reject Mort, letting him know that this perfect species of a male was drooling over him, Max. He would go home initiated, a seasoned lover, virgin hood behind. Max' determination grew. Now he would make sure he would be at the hotel at that time, no matter what the others' were doing. He just needed to come up with a plan.

Max fidgeted all afternoon. They returned to the room early to shower and get ready for the evening. Max didn't shower; he would do it later, to be fresh. The boys piled into the elevator, to go into town for a bite to eat. Max didn't drink anything all afternoon to purposely get dehydrated and now locked his knees standing in the elevator in which the air was humid and stuffy.

"I don't feel well," he said, grabbing onto the elevator wall. "I think I'm gonna faint."

Joe caught him before he fell to the floor, dragged him out of the elevator, and sat him on an empty luggage cart in the hallway. He squirted water from his water bottle down Max's throat. "Get ice at that vending machine over there," he ordered Josh who hurried down the hall. Max sat with his head between his legs to get blood flowing to his head. When Josh came back with a bucket of ice, Joe grabbed a few cubes and put them on Max's neck, holding them in place. Max felt better but pretended to be weak. "Let's go, I'm starving."

They stopped at a pizza joint for dinner, then Max announced he wanted to go back to the room and wait there for them. Josh offered to stay with him, but Max insisted that the others go out as planned.

"I'm fine, I just need to rest, all right? I'll text you every hour so you know I'm alive."

After several minutes' of debating the guys reluctantly agreed and Max went back to the room by himself, taking the elevator up to the fifth floor. He had plenty of time to shower and get ready for his "date." He texted Joe to let him know he felt better and was watching a movie, telling him to have fun and not to come back early; he would probably be asleep soon anyway.

He hadn't brought the cream-colored shirt that made him look like an angel but his powder-blue button down looked just as good. He wore the same faded jeans as to the BBQ, sneakers and a white necklace made of tiny puka shells. His hair gleamed golden from the sun, and his gray-green eyes stood out against his evenly tanned skin. Max inspected his upper lip for a moustache but not even fuzz was growing yet. He decided to shave anyway, using Joe's kit. Joe with his dark features and more hormones than the three of them combined looked so much more mature and had to shave already like once a week. Max checked himself in the mirror. How many buttons should he keep open? Just the first two or halfway down the middle? He buttoned and unbuttoned until he figured the old weirdo wouldn't care anyway. He pulled his belt tighter over his concave stomach and sat on the bed, staring unseeing into the television that was set on a Disney channel. He chewed his nails, twirled his hair, drank gulps of water which he tried to pee back out before he went downstairs, thinking he might not have time later for bathroom breaks. At exactly 11 o'clock he texted Joe he would go to bed now and left the room. He felt sick to his stomach, but knew if he went through with this he would go home with his buddies in the morning as a man. He took the stairs instead of the elevator, then walked slowly toward the room behind which door he knew the old man was waiting. He didn't want to arrive out of breath and inhaled deeply while he rapped on the door. The door opened immediately and the perv greeted him with a glass of champagne.

"I was hoping you would come," he said in a nasally voice, stepping aside, indicating for Max to come in. "Don't be shy." He stretched out his hand. "Tobias. Pleasure."

Max timidly shook his hand and croaked, "Max. Max Rushfield from New Jersey. Nice to meet you."

"Ooh," said Tobias delightedly. "I love manners on young people. It's so rare nowadays. You are eighteen, correct?"

"Um, yes, Max agreed.

"Splendid, now that we got that out of the way," Tobias said and turned off a voice recording device, "let's get to know each other."

He pressed a glass of champagne into Max's hand and ushered him to the couch. He was barefoot and wore a red velvet robe with gold trimmings. Max felt his mouth go dry. Did the old man expect something from him or should he wait? He emptied the glass in one setting. Tobias refilled it and Max emptied it again. Tobias reached out and pushed a strand of hair behind Max's ear, letting his fingers linger and brush over his cheeks, then outlined his lips, touching them lightly. Max closed his eyes and imagined it was Mort. Just then Tobias kissed him and stuck his tongue down his throat. He tasted mouthwash on his breath. Max imagined Mort's tongue in his mouth just like in his dreams and moaned quietly. Mort-Tobias wrestled with Max's belt buckle, pushing his shirt over his shoulder and down to his waist, unbuttoning his fly, taking out his penis, and guiding Max's hand under his robe. Max gasped and opened his eyes. He panicked at the enormous size, noticing the satisfied look on Tobias' face, smiling, encouraging him to grab on to it, telling him it wouldn't bite. The champagne or whatever it was kicking in, mellowing him, making everything fuzzy, blurring the edges, numbing the shock. Max closed his eyes again. He felt his jeans being pushed down to his ankles. "Mort," he mumbled, "Mort."

"Who is Mort?" he heard the man ask, slapping him brutally across the face.

"I mean, Toby," Max corrected himself.

Another slap. "TOBIAS, not Toby, not Mort. Say it, Tobias,"and then he felt himself being pressed back on the couch with his legs open and Tobias between them.

He ripped him open, relentlessly pushing, moaning, grunting, rocking into his rectum which immediately burnt like fire.

"Are you a virgin?" the man asked, forcing his way deeper.

"No, just real tight," Max groaned, squeezing his eyes shut, thinking of Mort and how it was so much different when they were doing it in his imagination.

The guy turned him over, pulled his ass toward him and slammed into him, splitting him open more, pounding away, kneading Max's back with iron fingers. Max knew he passed out because when he came to, he lay on the huge bed, completely naked. But where was the perv? Through a fog, Max felt Tobias underneath him, holding him down by the hips. He brought his arms around and pressed Max's thighs open in a split, then pushed into him from below.

"You're so young, so tight, so beautiful," Tobias panted into Max's ear. "Look."

Max followed the man's pointed finger to the scene before him. Tobias had propped a large mirror in front of the TV in which the whole disgusting scene reflected itself.

"Nooo." Max covered his eyes, in his mind transporting himself to the fire station, to the safety of Mort and the guys, onto Mort's cot where he imagined them making love without all this pain. Mort would take him gently, lovingly. Max drifted out of consciousness again. When he woke up, a new searing pain built in his lower body. Tobias now straddled him, selfishly forcing himself into Max. The wound burned like fire.

Max began screaming. "Stop it, you're hurting me, I'm only sixteen!"

The pervert pushed himself off of the youth and looked at him in disgust. "You said you were eighteen," he shouted.

"I didn't. You said I was eighteen, I just agreed," he sobbed, rolling onto his side, pressing his arms across his middle.

Tobias got up, retrieved his wallet from the dresser, pulled out five crisp twenty dollar bills and threw them on the bed. "Here, I was under the impression you were a prostitute. You look like a drug addict needing a fix." He put on his robe and stepped into the bathroom. "You better be gone by the time I come back."

Max knew the guy was lying to protect his ass and scrambled off the bed. He dressed quickly before the pervert changed his mind. He threw the money on the floor and fled, back to the staircase, where he collapsed in a heap behind the steel door. He checked his phone. His friends had tried to reach him five times since he last texted them. It was 2:30 in the morning. He knew they were worried about him.

Max limped up the stairs and down the hall, feeling as if a knife stabbed him with every step. He pulled out his key card and fumbled with it, but was too shaky to use it. He pounded on the door and Joe opened almost immediately, looking pissed.

"Where the hell were you? We were worried, you know!"

Max pushed past him, saw Josh and Carl sitting on the beds, watching TV and checking their phones. Josh ate something out of a bowl. They looked so innocent and oblivious as if nothing bad could ever happen. Max stumbled into the bathroom and crumpled to the floor. He could hear Joe banging against the door, demanding to be let in. When Max didn't answer Joe threatened to break down the door, as he jiggled and turned the knob which wasn't locked, and the door opened.

Joe pushed his way inside, still bitching about Max not letting them know where he had been when he realized that his friend had a problem. Max lay on the floor, shaking. Joe crouched next to him and tried to pull him up, but when Max collapsed limply into his arms, he nudged his chin upward, searching his eyes.

"Max, what's wrong?" While he waited for an answer Joe glanced over Max's body, noticing his disheveled clothes.

"What happened to you?" he whispered.

Josh and Carl crowded in the doorframe but there wasn't enough space in the bathroom for all of them. They saw the panic in Joe's eyes and stared at their friend lying on the floor.

"Max, talk to me! What happened?" Joe urged again.

Max opened his eyes and forced out a few words: "I did it with that weirdo."

Joe didn't understand what he was saying and bent closer. "What?"

"I did it with that perv from the pool."

Joe jerked back in horror. His eyes darted to Max's bottom and back to his face. "You mean the guy raped you?!" he yelled.

"No. I consented."

"Why!?" Joe was incredulous.

"I didn't know it would be like that. I wanted to get back at someone, and not be called kid anymore by the guys at the station," Max said, barely conscious.

Joe stood up and ran his hands through his hair, dumbfounded. The others were numb with shock. "To get back at someone? Like who? For what?"

Max whimpered. "It doesn't matter. Joe, I need to see a doctor, I'm bleeding like a pig." He thought the worst was over and asking for help would be okay now.

"Bleeding? Where?" Joe looked confused. He couldn't connect what he was hearing with what he was just told a few seconds ago.

"Where do you think? The guy ripped me apart." Max covered his face in shame and winched. He was deathly pale and Joe finally understood what his friend was saying. Max was bleeding from his rectum and needed medical attention. Joe stumbled out of the bathroom, to the farthest corner of the bedroom, and called Keith on his cell phone. Even though it was the middle of the night, he answered on the second ring. Sitting on the floor propped against the bed, Joe said, "Keith, it's Joe. We need help. Max got hurt."

Keith knew by the sob that followed that something bad had happened. "Joe, where are you guys?"

"At the hotel. He… he got violated. He needs to see a doctor. He's bleeding from his ass, Keith," Joe said and broke down sobbing.

"What's the name of the hotel? I'm coming down now, okay."

Joe gave him the name and room number, then ended the call and buried his head in his hands. He didn't want to go back to the scene in the bathroom but knew he had no choice.

At the fire station Keith got dressed. Mort, awakened by Keith's yelling, appeared next to him, thinking they needed to go on a call and had already grabbed his clothes.

"I'm going down to OC. Joe just called. Max got hurt. Raped or something. Joe's fuckin' hysterical," Keith said and slipped into his jeans.

It took a second for Mort to grasp what he just heard, then he ran back to his cot and got dressed. There was no question that he would be going, too. As they peeled out of the parking lot Keith briefed him on what Joe had told him. "That's all I got out of him. I just know it's bad."

Mort pulled out his phone and called Joe's number. When he answered, Mort told him they were on the road and asked what was going on. He could tell by the tone of Joe's voice that he was traumatized but wanted to keep him talking. Mort listened intently, then his expression changed. "What?!" When he hung up, Mort was crestfallen.

"I have to tell you something, chief."

Keith turned down the radio. It had started to rain and the windshield wipers shrieked against the glass at intervals.

"Joe said there was a guy at the pool on Saturday who checked out Max. In a dirty way, you know. He supposedly dropped a note for Max to meet him in his room and Max pretended to be sick before they went out, and stayed back in the hotel. When they returned he wasn't there until just a few minutes ago and that's when they found out what happened."

Keith looked at Mort, knowing there was more. "Okay?"

Mort cleared his throat. "Remember when you told me to be careful around the kid, he's got the hots for me or something?" Mort looked uncomfortable.

"Yeaaah?"

"Joe said, Max mentioned wanting to get back at someone for something, but doesn't know what he meant, and that he was tired of being called 'kid'." Mort looked out the passenger side window, wiping a hand across his eyes. "I think he means me."

Keith gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead. "What are you saying, Mort?"

"I think it's my fault."

"What is your fault?"

"What happened to Max."

"What happened to Max three hours away from here is your fault? You're not making any fuckin' sense."

"He wanted to get back at me, for something I didn't do."

"Please tell me you didn't touch him."

"It's because I _didn't_ touch him…"

"Will you stop talking shit and tell me what's going on?!"

Mort was openly crying now. "A few weeks ago we were joking around at the station about him being a fan of mine and they told him about my one tattoo?" Mort pointed toward his back. "He asked me later if he could see it and I told him, absolutely not. That I was only into women. And then he left."

Keith mulled this over. "That's when he stopped coming around for a while, right?"

Mort nodded.

"What happened at the BBQ Friday? Did you guys talk?"

Mort looked pained. "Yeah. He told me he had a girlfriend, and I introduced him to Trish. Kind of like showing each other that everything was cool, you know. He seemed to be okay, except he didn't eat."

"What d'you mean, he didn't eat?"

"I saw him refuse a burger, he only wanted soda. I told him he better eat something, that he looked like a fuckin' corpse. I didn't see him after that."

Keith sighed long and loud. "And you're one hundred percent absolutely sure that you never as much as said anything or did anything? Leading him on, I mean."

Mort was frantic. "Chief, you know I would never do that! The night he asked to see the tattoo and I said no, I saw him sitting over by the Dumpster when I took out the garbage and told him straight out that there was no way in hell anything would ever happen between us."

"How did he react?"

"He said he didn't know what I was talking about and that he was only interested in girls, too. I said, so we're cool then, and he said yes and went home. Then he stopped coming around."

Keith slammed a fist onto the steering wheel. "Fucking shit. I knew it was trouble. Should've never let the kids come around."

Mort clenched his teeth. He felt sick to his stomach. "Stop the car, please. I need to puke."

When Mort came back from being sick, Keith's eyes bored into him. "Just to be absolutely clear on that: You never touched him."

Mort shook his head. "I never, ever touched him. I swear, chief."

Keith called Joe and asked how they were holding up, instructing him to use a towel to stem the bleeding if needed. They would be there soon.

The scene that greeted them in the hotel room was one of utter despair. Josh was lying on the bed, crying, Max was bedded on the bathroom floor, Carl sat next to him, an arm around his mutilated friend, and Joe, who had opened the door, stood in the hallway looking like shit, probably blaming himself for everything.

Carl got up and left the bathroom so the two firemen could take over. Keith checked on Max, rolling him to the side, and Mort crouched next to him, asking for the perv's room number. Max said he went willingly and he told him he was eighteen, the guy recorded it, so there was nothing he could do. With a steely voice, Mort kept asking for the room number.

Keith told him to shut up, but when Max gave him the number, Mort got up and stormed out. Keith sent Joe after him, to stop him. Mort was already in the staircase, racing downstairs, with Joe at his heels. Mort banged at the door, getting louder each time, shouting for the perv to open up. The guest next door blew out of his room, telling him to stop shouting, the guy moved out hours ago. Joe leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. Mort let out a barrage of curse words and kicked the door, then helped Joe up and gave him a brief hug. "It's not your fault, Joe. You couldn't know this would happen. It's all my fault, really." He patted him on the back. "Let's go." They marched back to the room where Keith had wrapped a black sweatshirt tightly around Max's middle to spare him the embarrassment of blood stains showing, and was about to carry him out to the car. Keith had told his brother to pack his stuff, he would be going with them, and Josh waited in the hall. Joe would drive himself and Carl back in the morning.

"Get some sleep, we'll take care of him," Keith instructed.

"I'm not staying here another minute," Joe said curtly and began to throw his stuff in a bag. Carl, who had no choice, followed suit.

Keith sighed, knowing they wouldn't listen anyway, and indicated for Mort to drive back in Joe's car.

They settled the bill and Mort pulled the concierge aside, showing him his badge. He demanded the name of the occupant of room 301 and vowed to hunt that piece of shit down, and if it took him the rest of his life. He'd messed with the wrong person and Mort knew how to make situations look like accidents…

When they were on the road, Mort driving, Joe sitting next to him, Carl asleep in the back seat, Joe asked quietly, "What did you mean by 'it was your fault'?"

Mort, expecting Joe's question, braced himself. He wanted to do this as carefully as possible, keeping Max's dignity intact while at the same time convincing Joe that he was not to blame for what happened. He began by explaining how confusing hormones and feelings could be at their age. Sometimes a young person didn't know if they were coming or going, liking both members of either sex and trying to suppress these 'sick' feelings out of fear and shame. "Did Max ever mention anything out of the ordinary, like stuff about me?" he asked, looking directly at Joe.

Joe stared back. "No. You mean, that he likes you or something?"

Mort nodded. "Kinda. Or anyone else. Other than girls, I mean."

Joe thought about it, shaking his head. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I think Max for some reason was infatuated with me and I told him off, not in the nicest way. I didn't think it amounted to anything, so I just wanted to nip it in the bud, you know. I didn't want him to get his hopes up."

Joe considered this. "When was that?"

"Some weeks ago."

"When he stopped coming to the station?"

Mort nodded.

"What does that have to do with what he did tonight?"

"I am afraid he meant me with 'showing someone, or getting back at someone,' for rejecting him. I always called him kid, like an idiot. He wanted to prove he wasn't a kid anymore and maybe retaliate by 'cheating' on me. So he did it with that guy, and to get it over with, probably. Not being a virgin anymore, I mean."

Joe leaned back in his seat, shocked. "My God, why would he do that?"

"I just told you. Hormones can make you do crazy things." Mort gave Joe a long look. "I'll talk to him. It's what I should've done in the beginning. None of this would have happened. He looked up to me. Fuck! The chief's pissed as hell. He noticed it too, warned me to never be alone with him."

Joe was surprised. "How come I was the only one who didn't see it? I always thought he was just in awe of you, for the regular stuff, like, your muscles and insane rescues, you know."

Mort guffawed. "Yeah, that too. But if he didn't mention anything to you, how would you have known? You had no reason to think he didn't only like girls."

"This is sooo fucked up! You never let on, either."

"Duh. D'you think I'd advertise it? He was embarrassed enough, I'm sure."

Joe began to cry quietly and cowered in his seat, his back to Mort, who left him alone. They drove the rest of the way in silence. When they arrived at the hospital where Keith had taken Max, he was already in the middle of being treated. Afterward, they stood around his bed, waiting for him to come out of sedation. Max was embarrassed when he saw everybody looking at him, knowing what they knew.

Mort broke the silence. "Too fuckin' bad the perv already left, I about kicked his door down."

"Yeah, and then what?" Keith asked.

"I would have, like, stuffed a barbed-wire wrapped cactus up his ass!"

They laughed. "Yeah right. He would've probably liked that," Max said.

He refused to press charges. All he wanted was to heal, forget, and go on with his life. Max sat up, dangled his legs over the bed and hopped off. The drugs still numbed most of the pain and he insisted on going home. The doctor gave clearance, handed him prescription slips and Keith drove him home. As soon as his truck turned the corner, Max left the apartment and headed toward the cemetery. He sat at his father's grave and told him everything, crying his eyes out. As the sun started to set, he heard footsteps crunching on the gravel. When he looked up, he saw two dark figures approaching from the parking lot. Keith and Mort. Max stared at the grave, then at Mort who had hunkered down next to him while Keith kept a small distance, giving them space to talk. Max got ready to justify and explain, but all he could do was croak. He tried again, choking out words that weren't needed when Mort wordlessly wrapped his arms around the boy's scrawny shoulders and held him in an embrace for what seemed like hours.

When Mort spoke, he explained that at Max's young age there is a lot of drama going on in a person's life, hormones all over the place, running amok, confusing their senses and feelings, and that it was okay. It would sort itself out. But he would need to talk to a professional to deal with what happened to him. Then he was quiet again.

Max whispered, "I love you so. I am so stupid. So, so stupid."

Mort hugged him tighter. "You'll be all right. Everything will be all right. You can come to me or Keith with questions any time. Max."

The End


End file.
